


Five Times Scott Didn't Get To Talk To His Father (And One Time He Did)

by ashurbadaktu



Series: Those Who Cannot Remember The Past [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/pseuds/ashurbadaktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not beta read!  Sorry!  But I hope it's not too bad in that respect.</p><p>Spoilers up to the end of Season 2.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five Times Scott Didn't Get To Talk To His Father (And One Time He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read! Sorry! But I hope it's not too bad in that respect.
> 
> Spoilers up to the end of Season 2.

Even though it seemed like everything was completely different from the night before they’d gone looking for a dead body in the preserve, there were some things that wouldn’t budge.  More precisely, Scott wouldn’t _let_ it budge because believe it or not but he thought at least one dinner a week with his mom was important.

He’d tried to make up some of his chemistry work after school in the library since nothing seemed to be actively exploding at the moment, which was why he was a little later than usual.  His mom tended to use the time before he got home to have a glass of wine and watch a few of the television shows that she recorded and never watched, but as he trotted into the living room, he was pretty sure she hadn’t done either of those things.

She was staring at the phone on the end table like it had done something unforgivable, which could mean a few things.  

“You, uh... you get called in, Mom?” he asked carefully.  “Cause if you did, I can just pull down the Hungrymans in there.  No big deal.”

She didn’t startle, but she did start shaking her head before she answered, which meant that it was worse than that.  Dropping his bag, he offered a hand to her, not quite sure what he should do with it but the contact had to help, he figured.  

The desperate way she grabbed for it, slid her fingers in between his and _squeezed_... that couldn’t be good.

“Your father called.”

Which was just about the worst answer she could have given.  Scott’s dad... ever since she’d gotten custody back from him, gotten Scott out of his house, he’d been a topic only broached for the most dire of circumstances.  It was easy enough, as it wasn’t as if either of them had many happy memories of the man.  If his mother did have any, she kept them to herself.

“What did he want?”

She squeezed his hand again and leaned up against her other hand, the one braced on her knee. 

“He... wanted to make sure you were okay.  He’d... heard about the... animal attacks.  And he wanted to make sure that you hadn’t been hurt.”

Scott knew exactly why the last word held a cold, awkward note of sarcasm.  If anyone knew why it was funny that his father didn’t want to see him ‘hurt’, it was Scott.  

“And you told him--”

“You were fine.”

Scott scowled, though he couldn’t think of anything better for her to have said.  He _was_ fine, other than the whole changing species thing.  And what was good about his life now was none of his father’s business.  If anyone had absolutely nothing to do with Scott’s happiness, it was Harold McCall.

“Good.  So...”

“I left it at that.”

He breathed in and nodded.

“Sounds good. Are we... I mean, do you still want to have dinner?”

His mother looked up then, peering into his eyes to see what might be stirring inside of Scott beneath the relatively calm surface.  For now, there wasn’t much to see.  They both knew his father.  There wasn’t much to say to that, especially when he didn’t have the power to hurt them anymore.  Once she’d seen that, a smile twitched at the corner of her lip, a smile just for Scott, before she gave his hand another squeeze and pushed herself off the couch.

“Not going to let him ruin my appetite.  Not when we’re doing...?”

“Vegetable Lasagna.”  Scott had grabbed the big family sized platter from the freezer section.  It was cheap, easy, delicious, and while they both knew it was nutritionally defective, they felt just a little better about it because of the ‘vegetable’ in the title.  

“Vegetable Lasagna,” she repeated with a little thump of one foot on the ground.  “My favorite.

\-----

“--and if he WANTED to talk to you, he would ask me for your number.  But he DOESN’T so I’m not even going to--”

Scott almost didn’t open his front door as he heard his mother shouting, but the sound of the phone slamming into the receiver told him it was safe enough to make his way in.  Swallowing, he crept down the hall and ducked his head around to check on his mother (and the state of the phone).

His mother was standing, arms wrapped around her torso and eyes locked on the _firmly_ hung-up phone.  Her breath came out in harsh puffs, and Scott could see that her hands were shaking, fingers fluttering against her sides.  He wasn’t sure if he should sneak upstairs or try to say something when she noticed he was there.

“Scott!” came the huff as she uncurled herself, one hand ducking into her hair while the other waved back and forth.  She looked everywhere but at the phone, which meant that she looked at the phone for half a second before nearly spinning to look anywhere else.  Scott waited at the entryway to the living room.

“E-everything all right in there, Mom?”

She nodded, something she did with almost her whole body, before running a hand through her hair again.

“Everything is fine, Scott.  Nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?” because they were usually pretty straight with each other, the current lycanthrope situation being an unfortunate exception.

She stared at him for a moment and he wasn’t sure what she saw or even what she’d been looking for.  Another breath, another sigh, and she sat on the couch.

“Your father called.”

He sat down beside her.

"They killed the mountain lion," he pointed out, as if that very important piece of information could logic away the call itself.  After all, his last intrusion into their lives had been about the animal attacks.

"He knew.  Apparently, he's... been keeping up with local news."

She turned to look at him squarely in the face.

"He was... calling to congratulate you.  On your success on the lacrosse team." She wiped at her face, though no tears had fallen yet.  "He used to play himself, back when we were in school, you know."

"I don't care," Scott said, hating the tone in her voice, the one she adopted when she was trying to make him feel better about his dad.  Usually she didn't try, hadn't tried since he was really little, but every once in a while, Scott got a reminder that his very smart mother had married that man and had a kid with him.  That there'd been a time when she hadn't loathed the very mention of his name or shook when she spoke to him.  He didn't care about that either, not anymore.  

"That's... kind of what I figured.  I reminded him of the court order."

"Good, cause apparently he forgot," and Scott tried not to be angry, tried not to snap at her because after dealing with his father that was the last thing that she needed, but it was hard.  The werewolf thing made it harder.

That was apparently the right thing to say, though, because his mother managed a smile and gave him a quick, firm, nod.

"I guess he did.  Hopefully he won't forget again.  But for the moment, _I_ need to get dressed for work and _you_  need to start your homework."

The world settled back on his axis, Scott made a face.

"No buts, mister.  I saw that mid-term report.  Get studying.  There's stew for later in the pot and I made rice."

That instantly perked him up, the thought of food firmly shaking all unpleasant memories of his father away to the corner where Scott kept Things That Aren't Important Right Now.

"Did you make beans?"

She looked sideways at him and raised an eyebrow.

"They're in the little sauce pot in the back.  Careful, though, cause I might have over seasoned them."

Which was exactly how Scott liked them.

"Awesome."

"I try," she admitted as she stood up from the couch.  She looked a little shakey still, but one more glance at Scott (who was peering longingly at the kitchen) made her laugh.

"Leave me some?"

"I'll _try._ "

"Good boy," she said before stepping past him, kissing his shoulder as she slipped by.  "Just don't forget your homework.  Can't stay on the team if you can't keep your grades up."

\-----

Melissa McCall hated the 13th of the month.

Not the ones that landed on Friday, or because it was the 13th, but because that was the day that she sat down and worked out the bills.  

It was always a disappointment; her job paid pretty well and she did plenty of long shifts and overtime.  But every 13th, she'd watch what seemed like such a large number dwindle down to so very little from all the expenses.  The mortgage was the worst, of course.  She'd wobbled back and forth between wanting to refinance and wanting to sell the place, but then she thought of her son and all the troubles he seemed to be having at the moment and knew from every parenting book ever that shaking up his home life was probably the worst thing she could do.  Sometimes, though, she wondered if they were right.

Did Scott really need this big house that had far too many rooms for two people?  Did he really need to always be worrying about their finances, working an after school job to help out with the food costs while she scrambled every month to keep them afloat?  Did he need to live where the memories in the walls were mostly good but, oh, the bad ones... The bad ones were bad.  She'd fought for the house in the divorce because her lawyer had said she could get it, but considering the dreams of a big happy family that just hadn't happened, she wondered if it had been the best idea for her or her son.

And of course, Harold's alimony payment was late again.

With everything going on, she had no desire to speak to her ex-husband, but she had a responsibility to take care of her son and that meant she was going to call him.  A part of her balked, knew that he probably didn't have the money because it wasn't as if he'd ever been able to hold down a job with that temper of his, but the court had ordered him to pay it and she wasn't about to let him get away with his bullshit.  Not when it would cost Scott.

Apparently, some rats had gotten into the locker room and chewed up the fingertips of his gloves.  New gloves weren't in the  budget, but they could be.

The phone rang a couple of times before he picked up and she strained just a little in a way that made her feel silly and 17 years old to try and pick up any background noises.  Harold had shut them out of his life almost as much as they'd shut him out of theirs and normally that worked just fine, but she couldn't lie to herself and say she wasn't curious.  But nothing was loud enough for her to make out.

"You just haven't gotten to the post office recently, Harry?"

Obviously not what he was expecting, but he spoke after only a brief pause.  

"As a matter of fact, I haven't.  Is this about your check, Melissa?  Things going so badly that you have to actually talk to me over one missed month?"

She tried to keep the growl out of her voice, because she didn't want him knowing anything about HER family, but a little slipped in.

"The court says you pay every month.  So you know what?  You have to pay every month.  And whether I need it or not, you're going to give what _insignificant_  help you can to raise our son.  So you've got two days before I report you."

"And if the mailman is late?"

"I'll check the postmark."

"You always were so sweet."

"And y _ou_ always tried to push things until the breaking point.  Just... do what you're supposed to do, Harry.  And I'll do what I'm supposed to do."

"You were supposed to be my wife," and she could hear the anger starting, the growl in the lowest register of his voice.  Her fingers tightened against the plastic receiver almost painfully before she forced herself to loosen her hold. No.  He wasn't here.  He couldn't hurt her, or Scott.

"Plans change."

No answer, but when he spoke again, his voice was calm.

"You'll have your check tomorrow.  Tell Scott I said hello."

 _Don't count on it._ The phone clanked loudly as she dropped it into the cradle.

\-----

"Sheriff Stilinski?"

Once-again Sheriff Stilinski blinked at the voice on the other side of the line.  It wasn't as if he had never gotten a call from her, after all.  But Melissa hadn't had much to talk about since the boys had gotten old enough that they arranged their own play dates.  And her husband had moved away...

"Hey, Melissa.  Wh-what can I do for you?"

"I'm just... I'm just wondering.  How you and Stiles are doing after..."

He needed to rub at his face a little before he even partially considered answering that not-quite-a-question. 

"We're... we're doing all right.  There's... there's been a lot of funerals to go to.  The deputies..."

And instantly, Melissa felt like an ass.  That night at the station had been horrifying to her because she'd watched her son be shot, seen him turn into...  

She should have thought of all the bodies she knew were down in the morgue, all the people he'd talked to every day, shared coffee with, nudged towards their paperwork. She didn't even know how many deputies he'd had, let alone how many he'd lost.

The town had lost a lot to one kid's rage, but Sheriff Stilinski had lost more than most.  And here she was, calling him up to try and make sense of everything, asking him about things that he might not have even seen.

" _Dios mio_ , I am so sorry.  I didn't even think."

"It's all right, Melissa.  It's... there's been a lot to think about lately.  I know Scott's been giving you almost as much trouble as Stiles has been giving me."

"Something like that," she answered, diving for the simple answers, the simple stresses.  Scott's grades had plummeted, he'd had a restraining order filed against him... that was so much easier than 'he'd been shot' or... or anything else.

"So... you were just calling to check up on me?"

"Yeah," she answered, wincing and hugging the phone to her because she'd called for more than that but she couldn't bear to ask him anything with how tired he sounded.

"Well, we're all right.  And we're looking forward to the game in a few days.  Stiles probably won't get on the field, but... at least it'll be a nice excuse to enjoy a night outdoors?"

"Yeah," and she let out a breath, finally, because her mind was working overtime trying to figure out a way to ask what she wanted to ask.  Eventually, though, the pause was too long and she gave up.

"I'll see you there, then?"

"Absolutely.  Scott's benched for the moment because of his grades, but I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"It'll be nice to see you."

"Yeah."  And this was awkward when something inside her said it shouldn't be, her mind going places it absolutely shouldn't, wild ridiculous places that didn't even really make a lot of sense but it'd been a while and she wanted something enjoyable for just a few hours since her last attempt at a date ended so poorly.  It wasn't even close to what she wanted to ask him, but avoidance wasn't just a conscious thing after all.  Not when it was something like this.

She was saved by a beep on the line, another call, and she dove for the exit without looking at the caller ID.  

"See you there.  I'm... I'm glad you and Stiles are all right.  I'd better take this."

A click and she was on the other call, unsure of who it might even be calling.

"Melissa."

Because it had to get worse.

"Harold."  The last person she wanted to talk to.  The absolute. Last. Person.  There were questions that she had and her heart was heavy and hurting from everything she'd seen, but she'd rather be alone questioning herself than try to get anything useful out of him.  She almost hung up immediately, her finger on the receiver, when he spoke again.

"Don't hang up.  Please--" she heard him breathe in but it was the 'please' that made her pause more than anything else.  Please.  He'd hadn't said 'please' for years to her, hadn't treated her with respect or decency since well before their divorce.  The 'please' earned him another minute, because she couldn't talk to her son and she couldn't talk to any of her friends at work and she couldn't talk to Sheriff Stilinski, but maybe...

He wasn't a part of this.  He wasn't there.  And Scott was his son.  Their son.  Their son who had fangs and claws and could get shot and walk it off like he'd just stubbed his toe.

"I'm listening."

It was more than he deserved, more than she should have given him, but she was vulnerable, and if she was honest with herself, he'd always been good at catching her when she was vulnerable.  It was why he'd managed to win custody at first, and why he'd managed to keep them together for so long with how he treated both his wife and his child.  This was a terrible idea, but she was out of all the ideas but the terrible ones.

"I just wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to let Scott spend some time at my house.  Beacon Hills is sounding a little dangerous at the moment."

Her heart went instantly to her throat.

Things had not been good this year.  She'd had to take more shifts, Scott's grades were terrible, there'd been the restraining order and the murders and everything else that could have gone wrong HAD gone wrong.  Harold was asking, but in a way it was a warning, He knew, as he always knew, that she was vulnerable.  He would have plenty of ammunition if he decided to challenge her custody again and he was trying to see if he could get her to roll over and give him what he wanted without having to fight for it.

Fuck _that._

"I think we'll be fine, Harry."

"All the same," because he could never leave well enough alone, never take a hint, "I'd really like to talk to Scott.  See how he's holding up.  He _is_  my son, Melissa."

_Except when you thought he was too weak, too expensive, too much trouble.  He's only your son when you know you can use him against me._

Her eyes went towards the ceiling, to Scott's room.  Her son was actually home, staying in his room as she hadn't been able to look at him properly since that night at the sheriff's station.  Usually she tried to cook when they were both home, took advantage of the fact.  Right now, though, there were too many questions in her heart and too much fear to ask the people she should be asking about the answers.  

"We'll be fine, Harold.  And I'll let him know you called.  If he wants to call you, that's his business."

The growl he gave in response told her that her decision had been the right one.

"I'll call again, Melissa."

A split second of thought gave her nothing, no good answer to that which wouldn't have him screaming at her over the phone, so she just hung up.  

Alone.  Alone again with so many questions, not enough answers, and a son that she couldn't bear to look at right now even though she knew it was exactly what he didn't need with everything that seemed to be on his plate.

That's why she made a point to clear the caller ID.  He didn't need his father on top of the rest of it anymore than she did.

\-----

(210)555-1764 -  _Scott?_

(311)555-4998 -  _Who is this?_

(210)555-1764 -  _How're you doing?  Heard you have to do summer school this year._

(311)555-4998 -  _Seriously, who is this?  And how do you know that?  Derek, did you finally get a phone?_

(210)555-1764 -  _Derek?  Who's Derek?  Gave up on the Stilinski kid?_

(210)555-1764 -  _Did your mother make you delete my number from your phone?  I bought you that phone._

(210)555-1764 -  _I've called a few times and she hasn't let me talk to you.  Did she even tell you I'd called?_

(210)555-1764 -  _I know we don't always agree about what's best for you, but I am here if you need to get away.  Your mother might not understand but maybe I will.  I'll send you money for the bus if she won't give it to you._

(210)555-1764 -  _Scott?_

(210)555-1764 -  _Scott_

(210)555-1764 -  _A boy needs his father._

 _\-----_  

Scott was _finally_  done with his very first day of summer school. 

There were plenty of things that he wanted to do, of course, like go get ice cream or hang out with Stiles to check out the video game his friend had gotten after trading in all of Lydia's not!gifts.  What he _was_  doing was running his way to the burned out Hale house to meet with Derek, Isaac, and (ugh) Peter to talk about some sort of Alpha pack that may or may not have picked up Boyd and Erica and who _definitely_  was going to be bad news for the werewolves of Beacon Hills given the current scattered state of things. 

Derek had done the smart thing by asking Isaac to deliver the message.  Isaac had come to understand Scott a lot better than Derek ever had (which Scott mostly attributed to Isaac actually TRYING) and his _request_  for Scott to come to the Hale house for a meeting with the other two wolves hadn't made his day or anything, but he had agreed.  He wasn't about to try to handle things entirely on his own when Isaac mentioned that Peter and Derek were Seriously Worried, after all.  Derek always looked like the end of the world was coming and you had to go with him if you wanted to live (it was one of his least enjoyable traits), but Peter had made a homicidal career of keeping his cards close to his chest.  Peter being worried (as much as he hated to admit it) meant that he had to be worried.

Trotting up to the house itself, Scott did his best to shake off the bad vibes the place always seemed to give him.  Of course, there weren't a lot of reason for good vibes there: the place had been burned to the ground with a bunch of people in it.  Laura Hale had been murdered and buried there.  He'd fought Derek there, they'd fought Kate there, Peter had died AND been ressurected there.

Derek had brooded there for _weeks_.

All the same, something seemed… wrong.  Wrong _er_.  The usual creeps he got from the Hale house was nothing to the creeps he was getting right now, and the fact that Derek hadn't done his usual 'appear out of nowhere with a scowl and a growl' act was actually more annoying than when he did because at least he'd come to expect that.  No, the whole place seemed unnaturally quiet.

Unnaturally quiet usually wasn't a good thing.  

He padded a little closer to the house, every sense as open as he could make it to try and pick up _something,_ some clue as to what was going on.  He didn't want to make a noise, because that would tell the whatever-was-wrong that he was there and make him a sitting duck out in the clearing in front of the house, but after a few steps he finally gave up.

"Isaac?  Derek?"

Which was when the door _EXPLODED._

Scott scrambled back, falling over on his ass as his hands shot up to cover his eyes from the debris.  As soon as all the pieces had fallen, he pushed himself up to his feet to see what had happened.

The door, what little there had been, was gone.  More importantly, a rather familiar body lay in the leaves and dirt.  Scott was horrified and sent up a quick prayer that Derek wasn't dead as he dropped to his knees to turn him over.

The Alpha wolf had been thoroughly worked over, slashes on his side and along his legs bleeding slowly as his chest struggled to rise and fall.  That rise and fall assured him that Derek was at least alive, which spurred him into picking up the other man and trying to revive him enough to run.  Derek's eyes opened after a moment, blue and human and obviously pained.

"...Scott?"

"Wh-what the hell happened to you?  Where's Isaac?"  Peter was a secondary concern, as much because of the bad blood between them as because Peter was amazingly good at surviving things he shouldn't have.

"Isaac... Peter... Out..."

Derek's eyes finally focused on Scott and he startled, one arm striking out to grab Scott's with desperation.

"Go.  Run.  The Alphas..."

Scott shook his head firmly.

"I'm not leaving you to die, man.  Come on.  You can run.  Just... Come on! I've got you.  I've..."

Which was when Scott heard the clapping.  Swallowing hard and tugging Derek up to brace him on his shoulder, Scott turned his head up to see where the clapping might have come from.  He couldn't help staring.  There was nothing else he could do.  This couldn't be real.  It just... couldn't. 

Tall.  Dark hair.  A cruel smile filled with fangs and bright red eyes.

"I can't say I approve of the company you've been keeping."

He hopped off the ruined porch and clasped his hands behind his back.  Derek, still somewhat woozy from blood loss looked from the intruder over to Scott, back and forth.  Back and---

_**"Dad?"** _

The fang-filled smile widened and Harold McCall let out the smallest little chuckle as Scott almost dropped the wounded man.  From within the house, Scott could hear a few other soft laughs chorusing along.

"I told you, Scott. 

"A boy needs his father."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Scott's father's name is taken from the name used in the 1985 movie where Scott was raised by his (single) father. Having been a huge fan of the old movie, I couldn't resist. 
> 
> As for the ending, this isn't so much an M. Night Shamalan 'twist' as it is the beginning of a series. I promise, by the end, it will all make sense!


End file.
